


Blaise Pascal

by shipwrecks



Series: Amoral Backbones [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Oh wait, a surprising turn of events for me, more blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwrecks/pseuds/shipwrecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're drunk."</p>
<p>"Duh."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaise Pascal

**Author's Note:**

> Short, but snarky. (aka everything I write but shhhhhhhhh) I was going to title it 'The Sound of Silence' after the Simon & Garfunkel song, but then I thought of the lyric "hello darkness my old friend" and at this point, that's just the title of my life.

"You're drunk."

"Duh."

Which is not existential by any means, but it's a pointed response, even if half-assed by Grantaire's usual standards because of the alcohol. But the very thought sits wrong in Enjolras' head because he knows alcohol doesn't slow his wit, if anything, it spurs it on faster. So the thought rattles around until it falls out the chute and he must think of another reason Grantaire is being so sparing with his words.

"You're quiet. Absolute silence leads to sadness. It is the image of death."

Enjolras thinks he is being particularly clever here, pulling out Rousseau on an unsuspecting Grantaire. He doesn't necessarily believe what he is quoting, but that's not really the point.

"Silence is one of the great arts of conversation."

At first, it seems like he hasn't realized what Enjolras is doing. Or at least, Enjolras thinks so. He considers it a victory, that Grantaire had to rebuttal with his own words, until he remembers - feebly, in the back shelf of his brain, next to high school geometry and losing his virginity - _Cicero_. Damn him.

"Silence is the virtue of fools."

And this one he does believe, sort of. Well, more than the other one anyway. And it's an appropriate reply, more than good actually. Quippy, even.

"In human intercourse, the tragedy begins, not when there is misunderstanding about words, but when silence is not understood. And you know I've always hated Francis Bacon."

"What am I not understanding, Grantaire? Why are you brooding tonight?"

He doesn't get an answer. Not one he understands, which, of course, infuriates him beyond belief because that is exactly what Grantaire said and he really hates it when that bastard is right.

He is appeased, however, with Grantaire on his knees. He himself is up against the alley wall; this is, surprisingly, Enjolras' secret favorite place for this to happen. He likes the harsh, craggy wall digging into his back. Grantaire rucks up his shirt and it scrapes his back as he scratches down his thighs. He likes the sharp light on Grantaire's face, how he can literally see him wanting to say something but physically can't because his mouth is full with his cock. There are goosebumps on Grantaire's small expose of neck because it's January. (And because other things.) He likes it in the back alley because it is in public, precisely because Grantaire must be silent. Because while some of the time he wants Grantaire to speak, most of the time he wants him to shut up.

He futilely grips the uneven wall as he comes and there are now scratches there that match others. He doesn't even whisper Grantaire's name. Grantaire, still at a low vantage point, cracks his knuckles against Enjolras' knee which sounds deafening in the once silence. He crawls up next to him, upright once more, taking a pull off of a previously abandoned wine bottle. He lights a cigarette.

"To get the taste of your jizz out of my mouth."

Enjolras is, honestly, disgusted with his vocabulary. Grantaire gives him a look that says 'you just got off on being injured and blown in public, judge not lest ye be judged.' Enjolras kind of hates him.

Minutes pass. (They feel like more, because this night of Grantaire's silence by choice is rare and, quite frankly, unnerving.)

"The eternal silence of these infinite spaces frightens me."

He stubs out his cigarette and walks away into where there aren't glaring lights and then he's just an outline that Enjolras is kidding himself into thinking he can still see.

Later, at home, he has to google what Grantaire said. Blaise Pascal. He's won this time.


End file.
